


The Practice of Professing Standards, Beliefs, etc., Contrary to One's Real Character or Actual Behaviour (*)

by sakesushimaki



Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-15
Updated: 2011-10-15
Packaged: 2017-10-24 15:56:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/265313
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sakesushimaki/pseuds/sakesushimaki
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>How Clara from purchasing came to hate her boss.<br/>(*) = definition of <i>hypocrisy</i>, according to TheFreeDictionary.com</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Practice of Professing Standards, Beliefs, etc., Contrary to One's Real Character or Actual Behaviour (*)

Tap tap.

Brian ignores it.

Tap tap.

He sighs. “Come in.”

“Hey, Brian, uh, can we maybe push the staff meeting back an hour?”

“The reason being?” Brian doesn’t look up. He doesn’t want to look at Gary’s orange tanned face right now.

“Clara’s boyfriend, you know, Josh, who’s been in Guatemala most of the year?”

Brian really has no time for this. “To the point, Gary.”

“Yeah, so, he’s here. Josh.”

“And?” Brian stares at him, waiting for continuation. The artificial sun has clearly fried away a substantial amount of brain cells.

“Well, he’s just on a stop-over on his way to, uh, Ethiopia, I think. But his flight out is in a couple of hours and he just stopped by here to see Clara.”

Oh, right. _Josh_. The _Doctors Without Borders_ saint. “And I care about this why now?” Brian generally doesn’t care about saints. Or doctors. With or without borders. Or boyfriends. In Guatemala, Ethiopia, or fucking New York City. Or wherever.

“Because he has another hour before he has to leave, and we were hoping we could give Clara that one more hour with him.”

“ _What?_ Are you serious?”

“Uh, yeah?”

Brian rubs his forehead. This is ridiculous. Just last week he had to give Carlos from accounting three days off because his cheating bitch girlfriend dumped him after two years and he needed a couple of _mental health days_. And now he’s supposed to rearrange his schedule because the two _star-crossed lovers_ are reunited after months of separation? How could anyone think that he’d possibly care about this shit?

And if he _were_ to care, he could point out that he hasn’t fucking seen Justin in nine weeks and he doesn’t run around crying or taking mental health days.

Employees these days. Bunch of wusses.

“Fifteen minutes,” Brian sighs. He has a conference call right after the staff meeting, he has another stuck-up client coming in right after that, and then he has to go pick up Mikey to fucking shop for a housewarming gift for the lesbians. What a shit day.

“But Brian—”

“I said fifteen minutes! Tell Clara that that’s more than enough for a quick fuck in the storage room, she can take my word for it. Now get out.”

He watches apricot-face walk out of his office and doesn’t miss the slightly pissed-off look on his face. Whatever. Fifteen minutes was a generous offer.

Brian leans back in his chair and grabs the desk calendar. He doesn’t trust the one on his computer screen.

Yeah, it’s really been nine weeks.

 

+

 

Clara’s eyes still look puffy when Ted recites numbers and other boring but important shit twenty minutes later. The tissue she’s crumpling up in her hands distracts Brian.

So, he’s an asshole. What else is new?

Clara will live. There’s still phone sex and emails and webcams, right?

Except that Brian knows these things are all bullshit.

Tim is briefing them on Brown’s summer campaign — Brian might have turned the new model gay last week — when he hears a laugh outside. It makes his skin tingle.

Then again, the sound was muffled through the set of doors, so he probably didn’t hear anything at all.

He thinks he hears Cynthia’s shrill giggle then. Or maybe not.

“…and yeah, I’m gonna have the new guy take care of the GLC project in the meantime,” Tim finishes.

“Alright. Ted, what about the insurance for the—” There it is again, that laugh.

“Ah yes,” Ted catches up. “I have the policy right here. It’s a—”

There’s a knock on the door.

“Oh, sorry,” he says, looking honestly surprised not to find Brian at his desk but at the conference table across the room. “I’ll just wait outside.” And then he’s gone, in a flash of blond and light and dark brown. That brown jacket — he stole it from Brian’s closet the last time he visited.

Brian sits there and blinks and feels his fingers twitch. Everyone’s looking at him, probably wondering what he’s going to do. He wonders how the fuck they even know who he is. It’s not like he’s here often. Not in Pittsburgh, much less at Kinnetik.

He’s here now, though. Just outside the room.

Brian waves for Ted to continue. Ted does, but soon the topic moves to the art department again and to how that computer person has to come in for the third time this month because the new design program is still hiccupping.

Justin’s outside. Wearing Brian’s jacket, with his hair just a tad longer than last time. Fuck.

Brian occupies himself with the pen. Click click. Yeah, it helps a bit. Click click. Tim gives him a strange look and Brian tries to listen again.

“…still don’t know what the problem is exactly, but the technician guaranteed to have the…”

Click click. Oh, fuck it.

“Five minute break!” Brian barks and jumps out of his chair.

He finds him, just like he expected, sitting on Cynthia’s desk.

Brian wants to be mad at him, really. He wants to be mad for being made look like a pathetic idiot, and an even greater asshole. Clara must fucking hate him.

He marches out there, yanks Justin up and wastes no time on trivial _what/how/when_ -talk. Justin tastes even better than he remembers, but Brian has kind of learned to expect that, and his fingers feel even better than how he called them up last night.

A sigh coming definitely not from Justin’s mouth causes Brian to stop.

Cynthia has her head propped up on her hand and stares at them dreamily. “Oh please, keep going.”

Justin chuckles and sucks a little kiss into Brian’s neck. It’s code for _I want you now._ Brian’s cock knows it, too.

“How much longer are you going to take?” Justin mumbles, hot and wet just below Brian’s ear.

Brian considers the storage room idea. But then Justin makes a small throaty sound, runs a hand under Brian’s suit jacket and shirt, and Brian realizes that a ten-minute storage room fuck simply won’t do. He wants to have time, wants to— Shit, he is definitely _not_ shivering because of Justin’s hands on his sides. Or because of his breath and smile against his neck.

Brian almost, but not quite, feels ashamed for the helpless way his body reacts to this jacket thief.

With one last kiss, fingers curling into brown leather, Brian lets go and hurries back into the conference room.

He breaks up the meeting within ten minutes.

So, he’s a hypocrite. What else is new?


End file.
